


Start Me Over.

by withoutwords



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: AU, Angst, First Times, Humour, M/M, a collection of vignettes, hints at one time abuse, some unhappy themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four Ways They Didn’t Meet, and One Way It Might End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Me Over.

**Author's Note:**

> “Sorry, mate,” a voice rumbles as someone shoulders into him. The hand is big and warm through the cotton of his t-shirt. “One too many tonight.”
> 
> “You’re right,” Aaron assures, looking up into big eyes and freckles and the pink flicker of tongue across full lips. Bloody hell, of course he’s going to meet a Ken Doll when he’s dressed like a greaser. Of course.

**_2\. It’s not what I pictured you wearing, but it works for me._ **

Aaron’s regretting the costume. The gel in his hair has formed a crust, the jeans are cutting off circulation to his dick, and if a taxi doesn’t arrive some time soon he’s probably going to get a curb crawler asking how much for the night.

The party wasn’t even that good.

“Sorry, mate,” a voice rumbles as someone shoulders into him. The hand is big and warm through the cotton of his t-shirt. “One too many tonight.”

“You’re right,” Aaron assures, looking up into big eyes and freckles and the pink flicker of tongue across full lips. Bloody hell, of course he’s going to meet a Ken Doll when he’s dressed like a greaser. Of course.

“Nice clothes,” the pretty guy says, and the fact that he hasn’t moved his hand off Aaron’s chest hasn’t gone unnoticed. Aaron steps away, just a little, casts a quick glance over the guy’s shoulder to where his friends are stood, giggling.

“For a party, innit.” 

The guy casts a long, dragging look down Aaron’s body, lingering just a moment on the snug fit around Aaron’s dick. He’s worried the heated attention will hurt; there’s negative space for arousal. “What’s the theme?”

“ _The Wombles_.”

The surprised little chuckle makes Aaron smile, and he’s almost disappointed when the guy removes his hand. He’s tall, even when he’s on a lean, and his blonde hair’s so ruffled Aaron wants to run a hand through it. Maybe someone already had. “I woulda watched it, had I known.”

“What’s that, then?”

“About the fit blokes in denim.”

Aaron’s laugh is short and breathy but he just says, “Right, okay,” to avoid it. At this point the poor, daft sod is being photographed by his so called friends and no doubt splashed across the internet. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“That’s nice,” the guy says, and he’s pulling out his phone, still swaying a little. “You’re nice. I’m not nice.”

“Shame.”

“But I’m a great shag,” he says, and then laughs a little at his own joke, handing the phone to Aaron. “At least I’ve heard that I am, you know, and I’m not the sorta bloke who you’d bother to spare their feelings.”

“What’s this for?”

“Your number, go on.”

“You’re not gonna remember this,” Aaron says, but quickly dials his number in under Fit Bloke In Denim. It’s good for a laugh, and if he does get in with a gorgeous bloke then the night wasn’t a complete waste.

“I’ll remember this,” he says, and as his friends start to pull him away he calls, “Why’d ya think I bumped into you?”

 

**_3\. I see you haven’t decorated._ **

There’s a moving van out the front of the Gordon’s old place, a few guys tracking their muddy boots in and out as they offload piles of boxes. Aaron catches sight of them a few times during his morning run, sees them share a look like Aaron’s shared with Adam over the years. Usually it means, _can you believe what this dozy prick is asking us to do?_

Aaron’s too busy watching the bigger, burlier bloke (the muscles in his back) that he runs straight into someone, crashing together.

“You idiot,” the person wails, Aaron trying to grab onto their shoulders to keep them both upright. It’s a tall, wiry guy that Aaron doesn’t recognise, his morning coffee now all over his stupid, expensive shirt. 

“Sorry, mate, sorry,”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get stains out of this?”

Aaron bites his tongue. “Alright, I said sorry didn’t I?”

“Yeah, because that’s helpful. Bloody hell.”

The hot removalist and his friend have stopped what they’re doing to look over and Aaron suddenly feels small and stupid. Which makes him feel angry and put out. “What’s the problem? I’ve seen better looking shirts at the circus.”

“Oh, clever, just - ” the guy pushes his coffee cup at Aaron, who holds it, while he tries to shake out the excess liquid. Aaron does his very best not to smile at the scene, but he’s quickly frowning when the guy grabs him by the elbow and starts to force him across the street.

“You _right_? Get your bloody hands off me.”

Coffee Guy’s surprisingly strong, pulling Aaron into the Gordon’s front yard and up through the front door. It’s smaller than he remembers from being a kid, but everything else is just the same. Wallpaper, chipped paint – this guy has a lot of work to do. Aaron’s going to guess money isn’t a problem.

“There,” he says, slamming a note pad down with a pen. “Put your details down.”

“Er,” Aaron starts, but he’s immediately quietened when the guy pulls his shirt off in one quick movement. Jesus, not only was the shirt ugly but it was also hiding one of the most beautiful bodies Aaron had ever set eyes on. Lean and lightly golden and freckled, and maybe this guy had a silver spoon up his arse but at this point Aaron could assume it was a very nice arse. “It’s a pretty small town, you’re not gonna lose me.”

“Just write it.”

Aaron does, making it as messy as possible because fuck him. If they’re going to be neighbours he’ll make sure the guy knows who he is. He’ll be loud about it. “You know, there’s easier ways to hook up with a bloke.”

The guy looks shocked, momentarily appalled, protesting, “I just split up from my wife,” like it might still be an issue for him. Like the scowl and the deprecation are just the aftermath of some bitter break up, and Aaron can relate. He still wears France like a healing wound.

Aaron sticks out his bottom lip. “She buy you that shirt?”

“What’s that matter?”

“Well,” Aaron says with a little huff, pushing the piece of paper over. He put a big, bold X at the end, to mess with him, and if nothing ever comes of it at least he can watch the poor bastard squirm. “I figure if I can get rid of your shirt I can help get rid of her, too.”

The guy’s jaw drops a little, and Aaron winks at him, turning on his heel to continue his run. He’d been sad to see the Gordon’s go, but they’d been a boring lot.

It was time for something new.

 

**_4.There’s nothing wrong with the car._ **

 

It’s been a long morning at the garage; stuck messing about with the underside of a car in the climbing heat. Aaron’s t-shirt’s clinging to him, and he can feel the trickle of sweat at the nape of his neck. The radio’s blasting so loud from the office that he doesn’t hear anyone approaching until there’s a knock on the hood.

“You right?” a voice calls, sounding impatient and rude, and when Aaron rolls out to have a look the face matches the tone. The guy’s lip is curled and his brow is set heavy and he crosses his arms like he’s King Dick.

“What’s your problem, mate?”

“Let’s count ‘em shall we?” he gripes. “First, I plan to get out of this god forsaken place this morning only to find out my car wont’ start. Then, I call the garage - the only garage for miles mind you – and no-one picks up the phone. So, I walk all the way across town in the hottest bloody day in a decade to find you lying there singing along to the crappest song I ever heard like you’ve got no cares in the world!”

Aaron takes his time putting his tools down and stretching himself into a standing position. He’d been itching for a shower and a pint, but he’ll settle for a fight if this bloke wants to push him. “You wanna go over that again?” Aaron says, inching closer, the faintest hint of regret flashing across the taller man’s eyes.

“You heard me. I’m serious.”

“Oh you’re _serious_. I thought we were playing a game.”

“I just need help,” he says with a little less bite, and Aaron smirks at him.

“That was hard, yeah? Please or thank you might put you in a hospital bed.”

“Too right,” the man replies, but it’s gentle and he’s starting to look a little less like he’s climbed his way up from the pits of hell. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair’s a little damp from sweat and if Aaron wants to forget the urge to punch him in the face, he might admit it’s actually a really nice face.

“Look, give me a minute here to get me things together and I’ll come take a look.”

“Yeah? That’d be great.”

“Not promisin’ anything, you know, but - ”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine,” the man says, almost beseeching, following Aaron through to the office. “I just – I’m sorry I was – I just have to get out of here.”

“You got somewhere to be?” Aaron asks, rubbing at his hands and face with an old cloth. He’s probably slick with grease, and beyond any real help to look better. 

“Not really. I just don’t like it here. I’m hoping I can avoid seeing too many people before I go.”

“Oh.” Aaron tries not to pull a face and fails. He hadn’t heard anything about a visitor, and Chas usually has the entire town’s gossip on lend even when Aaron doesn’t want it. “Right.”

The man sees Aaron’s expression for what it is, and explains, “I lived here. A long time ago. Er – Robert Sugden.”

“Sugden?”

“That’s the one. It’s like being the pink elephant in the room, no-one misses you.”

“The Sugden’s are a good sort.”

“Yeah,” Robert concedes, ducking his head. “That’s why I left.” 

Aaron doesn’t push. He knows that dark look and those hunched shoulders. He was this guy once; the blight on the family name. Usually it’s something imagined, something your loved ones would spend the rest of their lives convincing you isn’t true. Except you don’t let them.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Aaron suddenly feels the need to say. “If I get your car working, you come and have a drink with me. At The Woolpack.”

Robert casts his gaze over, surprised. He slices warm looks over Aaron, as if taking the invitation – the peace offering - as another thing altogether. Aaron feels he doesn’t mind.

“You think you can give me a good reason to stay?”

Aaron shrugs, throwing the cloth at Robert who laughs. “If I don’t, at least you’ll be drunk for it.”

 

**_5\. Look where you brought me (a gay bar)._ **

It’s a slow night. There’s warm beer and power ballads, and a chip so heavy on Aaron’s shoulder he thinks he might call it a night. It’s Chas, that’s holding him back. Her, _have a good night, then?_ and suggestive eyebrows that Aaron knows is waiting for him when he gets back. He thinks he’d rather go home with the weird bloke who was boastfully reciting the periodic table. 

“You don’t look like a man who listens to Foreigner,” a guy says to Aaron as he settles next to him at the bar. He’s too pretty for this part of town, but he smiles like he owns it. Leather jacket and crisp white collar; Aaron’s not used to playing up market.

“Well spotted, mate.”

“Bon Jovi, maybe.”

“After a few more of these, sure,” Aaron replies, unable to fight his smirk. The guy flickers his glance over Aaron’s face, to the hull of his throat, and Aaron can’t help the way he swallows hard with his anticipation.

“Robert,” he says, and then let’s out a little huff, a little shake of his head. “I’m, uh – I just came in for a pint.”

“Right, well, a lot of the people in here only come in for a pint,” Aaron says with a tilt of his head. He knows _I’m just here for a drink_ first hand. “Aaron.” 

“You having another?”

“Sure.”

They huddle over a table with easy conversation and playful silences. Robert’s a recent divorcee with his closet door ajar, and he doesn’t say much but Aaron can see it in his shaken hand and clearing throat. He’s showy, not self-assured.

“I did a lot of manual work, once,” Robert says, and the way he says it makes Aaron huff. Manual work. “Was a mechanic and all.”

“Oh, look at you, stooping to hard labour.”

“Nah, nah, it just wasn’t for me. Brains not brawn.”

“You sayin’ I’m brainless?”

“Touchy,” Robert teases, smirking around the mouth of his beer bottle.

Aaron enjoys the smiles, and the looks, and the way Robert’s long fingers wrap around his bottle; he enjoys the way he flushes, a little, when Aaron leans forward to brush their knees together.

“Where are you staying?” he asks, feigning innocence, but he thinks Robert can see right through him.

“Hotel, until I’ve got my things in order.”

“Things, hey? Like, all your suits, and ties and - ”

“You’re making fun of me,” Robert says, low, coming in so close Aaron catches the sweet smell of his cologne. Aaron tracks his hand up Robert’s thigh, revels in the way he can see Robert’s breath catch in his throat.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Aaron assures him, thinking back to the kid he was, strung so tight he had one foot tied to the exit. “I could give you my number and we could say goodnight.”

“We could,” Robert agrees, but he’s leaning forward, a hand on Aaron’s hand, and the way he says, “Or we could…” is gravel rough, sinking to Aaron’s dick.

Robert presses an open mouth to Aaron’s own, offers his tongue. He pulls Aaron close, a hand around his neck, and Aaron laughs into the kiss. “Thought you were funny about it, thought - ”

“Funny about _you_ ,” Robert admits, and this time the smile is self assured. “Let’s go, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees, hooking his fingers into Robert’s pocket as they head for the door.

 

**_1\. Just me and you, screw what the world thinks._ **

They’re in some seedy motel outside the city, an infomercial casting grey light across the room. Aaron’s ignoring the constant buzz of his phone, playing with Robert’s hair where his head’s rested at Aaron’s belly. It’s late, or early, or neither; Aaron wonders when time will start to matter again.

“You have to answer eventually,” Robert says quietly, breaking the silence, and Aaron lets out a long suffering sigh.

“Have to do a lot of things.”

“Just so they know you’re safe.”

“When’s that been important to you?”

Robert rolls just enough to look up at Aaron, his hair falling into his face. From this distance, Aaron can still see the fading bruises. The remnants of his punishment; still seen on Aaron’s knuckles as well. “I guess I deserve that. But if you think that’s still me, you might as well go home.”

“I don’t,” Aaron says, covering his eyes with a hand, to balance. His phones still buzzing, and Robert is warm where he’s wrapped around him, and how do you choose between your flesh and your bones. One’s pretty useless without the other. “I just – I just need to be with you, and be us, before I can face whatever me mum’s got ready to say. I can’t – I’ve gotta know, Robert.”

“How do I show you?” Robert asks quietly, and his hands come around to play at Aaron’s waist, to make patterns in his skin.

“This, I guess,” Aaron sighs, looking back. His hands’ still caught in Robert’s hair, and a spiteful part of him is almost tempted to pull at it, force him down. “Just, just be with me. Just be here, like, like you weren’t before.”

“I can do that. I want to do that.”

“You got no idea,” Aaron goes on, as Robert curls and crawls and starts to trek up the length of Aaron’s body. The sheets pools onto the ground leaving nothing but bare bodies and scars. Red and blue and purple marks and all their sad stories. Imperfections. “I can sit here all night tellin’ ya how hard it was, but you got no idea.”

“Yeah, Aaron, I do. I was the bad guy, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. You think I’d be here if I didn’t ache for you?”

Aaron gently kicks at Robert’s knee to send him crashing down, revels in the weight of him, the truth of it. He rolls Robert onto his back, long limbs and pale valleys of freckles, and hair and sore welts. “These marks’ll go away,” Aaron says, grazing his mouth along Robert’s stomach. He’s not sure why he’s saying it, or who he’s trying to convince. “But, but the things you did – the torture – that’ll stick with me, always.”

“Yeah,” Robert agrees, panting a little, pushing up, steeling for what he knows Aaron wants to do. What he will do. “Exactly. I hurt you so bad, no-one else knows how bad. That’s why you gotta hurt me right back. You gotta keep giving it back.”

“That’s,” Aaron starts, and he just breathes Robert through his nose, just grips so tight, takes him in like oxygen. “We’re so fucked up.”

“We were before this, when we were alone,” Robert says, and his eyes are clenched tight like a prayer. “We might as well be fucked up together.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
